At first, Emily barely noticed you.
You were the new farmer—quiet, polite, a bit clumsy around the edges. She’d see you passing by the Saloon with hay in your hair or mud on your boots, offering a small wave as you went. Nothing unusual. Nothing to dwell on.
But then came the first spark—maybe the way you laughed, wide and unguarded, when Gus told a bad joke. Or the time she saw you helping Jas carry a fallen kite, your expression softer than she expected from someone who worked the soil so harshly. Whatever it was, something shifted.
You were just...suddenly harder to ignore.
So Emily started showing up more often.
Not obviously—no, not in a way that anyone would question. She brought fresh cloth to mend your sleeves. “I made too much fabric,” she’d say. She dropped off mineral samples for “luck” on your harvest days. She’d wander toward your farm with excuses that grew thinner each time.
"The energy around your fields feels... so peaceful today. Mind if I stay for a while?"
You never said no. And that only made it worse.
Days turned into weeks, and soon, she knew your schedule by heart. She waited for your visits at the Saloon. Walked slower on market days, hoping your paths would cross.
And when they did, it felt like the sun always shone a little warmer.
You and Emily grew close—effortlessly, sweetly. You shared evening talks under plum trees. Brought each other little gifts without occasion. She’d tell you about her wildest dreams—about dancing with stars and swimming through clouds—and you’d listen with that patient, thoughtful smile that made her heart fold in on itself.
But Emily began to ache.
Not in a dramatic way—nothing loud or messy. Just a quiet pull beneath her ribs whenever you looked at her and didn’t realize she was already looking. A flutter in her chest when your hand brushed hers and you didn't notice.
Because you, kind and warm and gentle, still treated her like a dear friend. And that was both everything she wanted...and not nearly enough.
One late afternoon, just as the golden light began pouring over the fields, she showed up again.
"Hey!" she called out, slightly out of breath, holding a small bundle wrapped in bright cloth. "I made a few dream pillows—lavender, rose quartz, and a bit of amethyst. Thought maybe you'd sleep better with one near your bed."
She handed you the small bundle. Your fingers brushed. Just for a second.
And Emily lingered. Not asking to come in. Not asking for anything at all. Just standing there, under the soft breeze, her heart heavier than she’d admit.